Shadows of the Past
by PhasL
Summary: Erik has left England and arrived in Rome, ready to continue his new life. The shadows of his past, however, are already on his heels. Will he be able to shake them, or will he be consumed by them again? sequel to Time to Heal
1. Prologue

**Shadows of the Past**

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**_Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera in any way shape or form, though i do own the ideas behind this story. Even if anyone did try to sue me, however, you woudl get nothing, as I am worth less than a postage stame (albeit a somewhat expensive one.)_

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**Prologue**

Looking up at the once great theatre he let out an exhausted sigh. There was no doubt that the man was difficult to find, nay, he was impossible to find. True, he had tracked him this far, to the burnt out shell of the Opera Populaire. But now that he was at the building there was nothing left. No clues to be found in the ashes of the building, the trail had run cold.

"Where are you, Erik?" he groaned, "how far have you travelled since this?"

Of course, the darkness didn't answer him, and for all the man knew there was nothing left of Erik save the ashes of the theatre. With a sigh he turned away from the theatre and started his trek back through the streets of Paris. There was no point in digging through the rubble now. After all, he knew that what he was searching for would be long gone.

He would find him though, he had promised himself that much. He would have to use all the investigative skills he had learned in his life. Still, he doubted they would be much help in the case of Erik. The man was, after all, a phantom.

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**A/N: Zomg! I am back! Miss me? Probably not. Anyways, I am now rewriting this story, as it seems rather foolish to rewrite the first part and then leave the sequel alone in it's miserable state of ickiness...read and review, please and thank you!**


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

A young boy darted through the streets, hands held over his head in attempts to keep the water off. He was looking for a place to get out of the rain and found it in a small café, crowded with people. He managed to work his way away from the door, but bumped into a table as he did so.

"Sorry, signore," he said.

"You should watch where you're going!" the man snapped.

"I-I said I was sorry," the boy repeated.

"Stop staring, boy. It is a terrible habit," the man growled.

"Sorry," the boy said once again, turning away from the man and the table. The rain had almost let up, so the boy left the café, nearly running into a pair of unsaddled mares in his hurry. He paused and patted the white mare on the neck before rushing off, hoping to get home before the rain started up again.

"Madre!" the boy shouted, skidding into his house, "Madre, where are you?"

On the roof of the house, where a garden grew, sat an elderly man. His daughter sighed heavily as she watched him from the safety of the doorway. Her father spent so much time in the rooftop garden, doing nothing but sitting and watching the large blooms and vibrant green leaves of the plants. 

"Come inside, padre," she sighed, "you'll catch your death in the rain."

"I'm already dieing," he huffed, "lungs full of dust…it's a miracle that it hasn't already happened. I must be lucky…he cared for these plants, you know? Built this bench too."

"I know, padre," she sighed, please come…I am up here, my love!"

The thunder of footsteps on the stairs and then the flushed face of the young boy. He quickly wiped damp, dark hair out of his face, "Madre, I saw the strangest thing in the café!"

"Oh? And what was it this time?" she asked, placing a hand on her hip in irritation.

"It was a man," he answered.

"And what is so strange about that?" she asked, "Have you never seen a man before?"

"Not like this one!" he assured her, "he was all dressed in black, like he was going to a funeral. He was really rude too, he shouted at me for bumping into his table, even though I said I was sorry. But that isn't the strange part. You see, he was wearing a mask that covered half of his face."

"A mask?" the old man asked, turning to look at the boy, "are you sure?"

"As sure as I've got a nose on my face," the boy answered.

His mother clicked her tongue and shook her head, "Enough of this gossip. Supper will be soon, so go change your clothes and get cleaned up. I don't want you to be telling anymore of these tall tales either, it's wrong to tell lies."

"It's not a tall tale," he grumbled, but obediently went inside to get ready.

"Come inside for supper, padre," she said, turning back to her father.

"Of course…" he murmured, staring off into the distance, "I'll come in a minute, my dear."

She smiled sadly and went over to kiss his cheek, "Ten minute, padre."

He didn't move for some time after she was gone, instead considering what his grandson had just told them. A man with a mask covering half his face, the idea was almost too good to be true. It would have been eighteen years since the disaster that had caused his apprentice to flee. Eighteen long years. He wondered now whether or not this masked man could be the boy he had once known. It seemed impossible.

"Padre!" his daughter called, breaking him from his thoughts.

With a resigned sigh he rose from the bench, "Coming, my dear!"

* * *

The senseless babble was a constant hum in the café. People talking about their days, their work, some were even discussing their love lives. The café wasn't normally so busy, it was small after all, and fairly quiet on a regular day. Of course with the rain people wanted to be off the streets, which meant that the small café was packed. 

Erik gave a small sigh, he liked the café enough, it normally provided a good place to think and work. Still, at least he had managed to obtain a table, unlike the many who crowded by the door, watching for any signs of the rain to let up. With a small shake of his head he started to sketch out the beginnings of a house design.

The bell rang, alerting Erik and the other occupants of the café that yet another person had entered. A moment later someone bumped into the table, causing the tip of the pencil to ram against the page and snap off.

"Sorry, signore," the boy said.

"You should watch where you're going!" Erik snapped, glaring at the unwanted blemish on his sketch

"I-I said I was sorry," the boy repeated, staring at the mask the entire time.

"Stop staring, boy. It is a terrible habit."

The boy apologised again before rushing out of the café. Erik glanced out the window and watched as the child nearly ran into his mares. Of course he had to stop them and stroke the white one's neck before hurrying off; it was just like a child to do that.

Glancing back at the paper, Erik could only wrinkle his nose in distaste. Now he had an unfinished sketch and no pencil to finish it. With a small growl he crumpled it up, deciding that the design wasn't worth saving. Ramming it into his pocket he got up and left the café.

The rain had let up, which meant that dodging in and out of buildings wasn't necessary. Erik wasn't particularly fond of doing so anyways, after all it was only rain, small drops of water weren't inherently dangerous. He was making his way back to the inn he was staying at, but stopped at the post office on his way there. He had rented a box almost the moment he had arrived in Rome, sending news back to those who had wanted it. It was an odd thing for him to do, and he admitted that to himself, but it felt good in a way.

Once he had retrieved the single letter he hurried back to the inn, receiving the same wary glance from the elderly woman behind the desk as he always did. In response he gave her a polite smile, "Good evening, Signora."

"Good evening," she huffed, busying herself with a small pile of papers.

He rolled his eyes and went up to his room, tearing open the letter as he closed the door. It was from England, which meant that his letter had arrived there safely, and surprisingly quickly. Sometimes it amazed him at how quickly things could get done if you paid enough money, other times it simply reinforced his cynical views on the greed of men.

Dear Monsieur Erik,

It is good to hear that you have reached Rome safely, though a tad surprising at how long it took. As you know Adrienne and I are to be married this month, terribly sorry that you cannot attend the service. Adrienne sends her love. The estate in France is coming along nicely and my father wishes to send his thanks. Mother hopes that you are well and eating properly. We hope to hear from you again.

The letter was signed by the entire Beaumont family as well as Adrienne, who he assumed was part of the family as well by now. He read it over again and allowed a small smile, sad smile to grace his lips. Though he hated to admit it, he did miss the English estate and its occupants.

"Am I eating well?" he asked, looking around the small room. He supposed that if a small meal each day and several cups of coffee counted, then he was eating quite well. At least he was actively seeking employment, not that he truly needed it.

All he needed to do was finish his portfolio and attend a few interviews. It was simple enough, he already had several sketches and designs compiled, he only wanted one more to fill it out. This reminded him that he still needed to finish that last one. With a small sigh he went over to the little desk in the room, sat down and pulled a piece of paper towards him. One sketch wouldn't be any trouble.

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**A/N: Chapter two! If you're reading please review...yeah, that's all I have to say.**


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

"I saw a strange man when I was out today," the boy told his older sister.

"You always say that, Eduardo," she said, rolling her eyes.

"But I really did, Amelia, I swear it! He was wearing all black and-"

"Oh, so now wearing black makes you strange?" she laughed.

"Eduardo!" his mother snapped, "stop telling tall tales and finish your supper."

"Oh, don't be so hard on the boy, Angela," the older man said, staring at his arthritic hands, "he isn't doing any harm."

"It isn't right to lie about things," Angela argued.

"Madre, he's kicking me under the table," Amelia complained.

"Eduardo! If you cannot behave then go up to your room.

"I wasn't doing nothing," he whined in response.

"Anything," she corrected him, "now finish your supper."

The next few minutes of supper passed by in silence, a silence that didn't last. As soon as Eduardo was finished he had something to say, "Nonno, what are those things in the basement?"

"What things?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

"All those things on the shelves," Eduardo clarified, "they're so weird. Do they do anything?"

"Oh…well they used to do things," the old man answered, "but I doubt they do anymore. They were made a long time ago, by a very strange young man who was an apprentice to me. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," he shrugged.

"Madre was talking about renting the basement," Amelia commented.

"Angela!" the old man gasped.

"It was just an idea," she said quickly, "I haven't planned anything yet…but we need the money."

"I don't want anyone living down there," he snorted.

"It was just a thought," she murmured, collecting the plates, "Amelia, could you wash the dishes for me?"

"Of course," she nodded, then quickly scooped up the remaining dishes and followed her mother into the kitchen.

"Why don't you want anyone renting the basement?" Eduardo asked.

"I just don't," he sighed.

"What happened to your apprentice?"

"He left…" he murmured, memories flooding back to him.

"Where did he go?"

"I don't know," he chuckled, ruffling the boy's dark hair, "most likely off to become a great architect. He was the most gifted individual I have ever met."

* * *

Erik looked out the small, dusty window of the inn room and sighed. It wasn't exactly the view that he wanted, but he would deal with it for the time being. After all, it took time to find an apartment for rent, or even a house to buy. Money wasn't the issue; it was more that he did not want to have to bother with landlords for the time being. Besides, he didn't truly know how long he would be staying in Rome. 

"If I never get that sketch done…" he muttered, glaring at the half finished work. It was better than nothing, and often times employers like to see some unfinished works. It allowed them to witness the thought process and how one mapped out there work.

"I need this," he reminded himself, stuffing the unfinished sketch into the portfolio. If not for the money, he needed the job for the stimulation.

The next morning he went out, portfolio in hand, to an interview with an architectural firm. A firm wasn't exactly what he wanted, but it was better than nothing, and attempting to work freelance was often difficult.

As he passed by the desk the woman looked up and said a tart, "Buon giorno."

"Buon giorno," he replied politely, knowing that his manners would bother her.

"Have a pleasant day, Signor," she added, almost making Erik role his eyes. It was amazing at how she would talk to him despite her obvious distaste for him. He had heard her call him an eccentric Frenchman on the first day.

"Perhaps she is right," he muttered, earning a curious look from a man standing on the street. If anything could describe Erik, eccentric was as good a word as any.

Walking through Rome was as enjoyable an experience as walking through any city was. Of course the architecture and history of the city was amazing, and the people were unique in their own way. But after seeing the world, Rome didn't seem as wondrous as he had remembered, it seemed that views truly did change as one matured. Still, he did like the city.

He found the firm without any trouble, and once inside was directed to the owner's office. He wasn't expecting anything miraculous with the interview, seeing as all he had was his portfolio and charm, both of which, he would admit, were somewhat lacking.

"You are late," the man behind the desk grumbled.

"So I am," Erik answered, glancing at the clock, "it is an unfortunate habit."

"Indeed it is," he said, then cleared his throat harshly, "well then Signor…"

"Erik," he filled in, offering his hand reluctantly.

"Erik…" the man said, shaking his hand, "is that it?"

"It is, Signor," he answered, taking the seat opposite the man.

"How curious," the man grumbled, "well then, Erik, may I see your portfolio? I am assuming, of course, that is what you are carrying."

"Of course," he answered, handing it to the man.

A few long minutes ticked by as the man flipped through the sketches and floor plans in the portfolio. The man didn't say anything as he sorted through the papers, merely made small grunting sounds. Whether they were of approval or not, Erik could not be sure, the man's thick brow stayed furrowed the whole time.

"Well, you have some impressive works here," he said at length, "quite impressive, actually. I would like to see more work like this in potential employees."

"Thank you, Signor Fucilla."

"You sound so enthused," he chuckled, "well, you are the first person that has impressed me in some time, and I would like to see more of your work, that is for sure."

"Thank you," Erik repeated.

"Come now, a bit of enthusiasm wouldn't hurt," Signor Fucilla laughed, "I am offering you a job!"

"And I thank you for it," he answered, a tiny smile causing his lips to twitch, "and am pleased to accept it."

"And I am pleased to have a new architect," he said, reaching out to shake Erik's hand, "when ca you start?"

"Whenever you need me," Erik answered, shaking the man's hand.

"Well then, why don't we start now?"

Much of the afternoon was spent learning his way around the firm and being handed folder after folder of potential assignments. It wasn't exactly what he had planned, but it was work, and it would do for the time being. Erik even dared to think that he might learn to like it, though it seemed highly improbable.

"Scusi!" a pair of children chirped, dashing past his feet as he stepped out into the warm late afternoon air. Not long after another child dashed past, and Erik couldn't help but laugh at the idea of them playing tag in the busy streets of Rome. It certainly wasn't the safest place to be running around.

With a small sigh he turned his back on the firm that he was newly employed in, and started to make his way back to the inn. Now that he had found a job he would consider looking into an actual residence.

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**A/N: Well, glad to see some reviews. I'd have responded...but as you may know I am a somewhat lazy person and don't always get around to doing what I mean to. I love to get them though, and I'll try to reply this time around. Umm...yeah, not much more to say. Hopefully I'll get a new story up soon, I have ideas an dthe beginnign of one or two...but I like to flesh things out a bit before posting, mostly to ensure I finish them. Please leave me a review!**


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

It didn't take much to bore Erik, and after fifteen minutes in his room, with nothing to do, he was back outside. Walking through the city would at least provide him with more exercise than that obtained pacing in the room of the inn.

"So you're coming this time?" Erik asked as the mares approached him. They snorted and nuzzled his shoulders in response and he simply walked on, knowing they would follow him.

The walk took him along a familiar path, along streets he remembered wandering up to the house he had once called home. It was strange to see the house again, and oddly haunting in a way. It looked almost exactly the same, from the familiar courtyard to the garden that was just visible on the roof. For a moment he wondered if the bench was still there.

"Is there something I can help you with?" a woman asked.

Erik jumped slightly, dropping his eyes to look at the woman in front of him, dark hair falling in her face and hands on her hips, "No, not at all. I was just…is this your house?"

"I live here," she answered.

"It's a lovely house," he complimented, "I was just admiring it."

"Thank you," she said warily.

"Yes well, I should be going," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly, "it was a pleasure to meet you, Signora."

"Madre!" Eduardo shouted, dashing out of the house, "Nonno wants to know when…that's him! That's the man I saw in the café."

"Eduardo," she scolded, "mind your manners. I'm sorry, Signor."

"Not at all, I remember seeing your boy as well," Erik answered, "he bumped into my table and ruined my sketch."

"I said I was sorry," Eduardo grumbled.

"Eduardo," Angela warned, "What was it you wanted?"

"Nonno wanted to know when supper was going to be," he relayed, "and what we're gonna have."

"Tell him I'll be inside in a moment," she answered, ushering towards the door, "have a good evening, Signor."

"You as well," he nodded, turning on his heel and walking out of the courtyard.

"He was the man I saw," Eduardo said, brushing his mother's hand from his shoulder, "did you see the mask?"

"Eduardo, I have told you too many times to mind your manners lately. It is impolite to point and stare. Go up to your room, no supper for you tonight!"

"But-"

"Go!" she said, and he stomped off to his room.

"What was that ruckus?" Giovanni asked, shuffling into the hallway.

"Nothing, Padre," Angela sighed, "and supper will be soon, I was just going to check on it. We're having chicken and vegetables."

"Who were you talking to in the yard?"

"Just a man who was looking at the house," she told him, "he seemed to like it. Maybe he was interested in buying it."

"It isn't for sale!"

"I know…we can't even rent out the basement."

"Don't take that tone with me."

"I'm checking on supper," she huffed, turning and heading to the kitchen.

* * *

The next day Angela went to visit the market, buying the essentials that she needed to feed her family. The day was nice, so she didn't mind being in the market, other than her need to do things back at the house. She always worried about leaving her father alone for too long, and today was no different. Still, she tried to enjoy the warm sun and the pleasant atmosphere of the streets. It wasn't until she bumped into someone that she realised that her mind had been wandering. 

"Scusi, Signor," she apologised, "I didn't see you there."

"Perhaps you should watch where you are going," the man replied, a look of annoyance on his face as he turned to look at her. The look evaporated slightly when he recognised her, "Ah, I believe we met last night."

"Indeed," she answered, "again, I'm sorry for bumping into you."

"No harm done," he replied nonchalantly.

"Yes well," she said, rearranging the items in her shopping basket, "may I ask why you were looking at my house last night?"

"It seems that you already have," he said, and then motioned to the building behind him, "I am an architect. I was simply admiring a piece of architecture, a lovely one at that. I apologise for trespassing."

"Well, no harm done, as you say," she answered.

There was a short moment of silence before he cleared his throat and held out his hand, "My name is Erik."

"Angela Lombardy," she answered, warily shaking his hand.

"A pleasure to meet you again," Erik answered, "But I must be going. There is still work to be done. Good afternoon, Signora Lombardy."

"Good afternoon," she replied, walking off as he re-entered the architectural firm.

* * *

"What took you so long in the market?" Amelia asked as her mother entered the kitchen. 

"I just ran into someone," she answered, "Amelia, could you please do something for me?"

"Of course, Madre," she answered.

"Could you start supper for me? I have some things I need to get done."

"Of course," she answered, taking the shopping basket.

Angela smiled and patted her daughter's cheek before going off in search of some of her cleaning supplies. She was passing through the living room on her way to the cellar when her father stopped her. With a small sigh she put down the bucket she had been carrying and her rag.

"What is it, Padre?"

"Where are you going with those things?" he asked, eyes darting towards the stairs.

"The cellar," she answered, "I want to do some cleaning down there. Is that a crime?"

"Why are you cleaning it?"

"Because it is filthy! Now if you will excuse me, there is a lot of work to do," she said, taking up her rag and bucket and heading down into the dusty depths of the house.

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**A/N: Well, I was gonna get this up earlier, but my weekend was extremely busy (I had a horse show) so I got nothing done. Once again, I hope to get something new up...any ideas out there I'd be happy to hear them, I've got a modern day one in the works, but I'm being very, very picky with it. Please read and review**


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Erik drummed his fingers against the desk as he reviewed the file in front of him. It contained the details he would need for his first true assignment, the building of a private home. They were simple requirements, and yet he had been looking them over for nearly half an hour, a blank sheet of paper in front of him and a piece of charcoal between his fingers.

"Do you plan on starting that anytime soon?" a young man asked, dragging a stool over and perching on it.

Erik glanced up at him, "Is it of any importance to you?"

The man laughed, "I guess not, but you've been reading that file for so long…I hear you're French."

Erik suppressed a sigh as he put the file down, "Mais, oui."

"Marc Simofi," the young man said, smiling and holding his hand out.

"A pleasure, I'm sure," Erik said, shaking the man's hand, "I have work to do."

"Oh yeah…I guess I do as well," the man said, smiling a bit uneasily. Then he got up, pushed the stool away and walked back to his desk with a small wave.

Erik watched the man walk away and returned to his project, finally putting the charcoal to the paper. A surname was something he would have to invest in; after all, he could not live in the world without one. He had managed so far, but he was aware that his employer was wary of keeping him on.

Perhaps as a freelance architect he could manage it, but as it stood, he would require one. So, taking a scrap piece of paper he began to scribble down different names. It only took a few moments before he turned back to what he was supposed to be doing. He would decide on a name back at the inn, until then he wanted to guarantee he would be keeping the job he was choosing a name for.

* * *

It turned out that choosing a name back at the room at the inn was no easier than choosing one in the office. There were so few that he liked, and after half an hour of trying to decide he chose to go for a walk. He figured that it would at least clear his mind, and he wanted to stretch his legs after spending the day at a desk, and getting something to eat wasn't an unpleasant thought either. 

As he came down the stairs he heard the woman at the desk talking with someone. For a moment he thought he heard her laugh, but dismissed the idea as ludicrous. He did hear her mention an eccentric Frenchman though, which elicited a laugh from the woman she was speaking too.

"I would hardly say I'm eccentric," he said, stepping into the lobby.

The woman gave a small gasp and placed her hand over her heart, "Eavesdropping!"

"Coming down the stairs," Erik corrected.

"Hello, Erik," the other woman said, and it took him a moment before he recognised the woman.

"Hello," he answered.

"It was Erik?"

"Indeed," he nodded, "and if I remember correctly, your name is Angela."

She nodded, "Aren't you working at an architectural firm?"

"I am."

"But living in an inn?" she continued, "It seems a bit odd. Wouldn't an apartment be a wiser investment?"

"For that I would have to go out and find an apartment," he replied, "and for that I would need to have time. Unfortunately working takes up most of that. Now if you'll excuse me, I was about to go out for dinner."

"Wait," Angela said, reaching out and grabbing his sleeve, "I may have someplace you can stay."

Erik turned and glanced down at her hand before speaking, "Do you now?"

"I do," she said, "I'm renting the basement of my house."

"You are?" he asked, brow furrowing slightly.

"It's a large basement, if you're worried about space. And you'd have access to some of the other rooms in the house…I need the money, if you're interested."

"I would be," he said, "though I would like to see the room first."

"Understandable," she said, a relieved smile briefly flashing across her features, "if you'd like, you could come now. My daughter is making supper, so you wouldn't miss supper."

Erik gave a small laugh at her attempt's to get him over. It seemed to him that she must really need the money, for most people did not invite strangers over to dinner just to sell a room. After a moment he nodded his head, "Well, how could I refuse?"

She smiled and started towards the door, "Very well then, come with me."

He gave a small laugh and turned to the woman behind the desk before following, "It seems you will be rid of your eccentric Frenchman."

* * *

The house was almost exactly as he remembered it, bringing back a bitter sweet mix of memories. The basement was no different, though the bed against the wall was larger. The spinet was still in the corner and the inventions were still on the shelves. It was almost amazing at how little had changed. 

"I apologise for the mess," Angela said, "My father refuses to get rid of those."

"It doesn't bother me," Erik assured her, "it's very…nostalgic."

"I see," Angela said, "well, look around, I have to go see if supper is ready yet."

Erik nodded and continued to investigate his old room, but didn't stay there long. Instead he walked back up the stairs and waited in the living room. When Angela came back out she smiled, "Well?"

"It's a nice enough room," he answered.

"Well, the rates would be fair," she said hurriedly, "and as I said you would have access to the living room, kitchen and bathroom."

"It seems like quite the arrangement," Erik said, "and it is fairly close to my place of employment…yes, I believe it would suit me just fine."

Angela smiled, "Wonderful. Well, supper is ready, if you wish to stay."

"Thank you," he said, "I would like that."

She smiled and led him into the dining room, motioning to a chair. He sat down uncertainly as she walked back over to the door, "Eduardo! Supper is ready!"

"Alright!" the boy shouted back, "want me to get nonno!"

"Yes please!"

"Your father lives with you?" Erik asked, hoping that it was her husband's father.

"Of course," she answered, frowning as his face paled, "is something the matter?"

Erik cleared his throat and shook his head, "Nothing, but I fear I must decline your offer for dinner. I just remembered that I have something to attend to."

"A shame," Angela said, "perhaps we could meet about the basement another time?"

"I…maybe," he said, getting up, "have a pleasant evening."

"Angela, what's for supper?" Giovanni asked, shuffling into the dining room before Erik could leave, eyes widening as they fell upon his old apprentice.

"Padre, I'd like you to meet Erik," Angela said, "I-I was considering renting out the basement to him.

"Erik," Giovanni repeated.

"I was just leaving," he said quickly, "pardon me, signor."

Giovanni stared in shock as Erik slipped past him, headed for the door. After a moment he hurried after him, "Wait! Erik…why don't you stay for supper?"

He stopped and Giovanni watched as his shoulders tensed, "I…"

"It's just a meal," he said.

"Just a meal," Erik agreed.

* * *

**A/N: Whoo, chapter update!**


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Angela managed a smile as they all sat down for the meal, sitting down as her two children fell into their chairs. They both gave Erik curious looks, and Eduardo opened his mouth as if to say something, something that was quickly silenced by a warning glance from his mother.

"Alright," Angela said, folding her hands, "I'll say grace."

Erik folded his hands slowly and listened as the family said grace, which was quickly followed by the clinking of cutlery. Once again he was slow to join in as the meal was served, his appetite having all but disappeared, replaced by a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Eduardo, Amelia, I would like you to meet Erik," Angela said after a moment, "he may be renting the basement room."

"We're renting out the basement?" Amelia asked, glancing at her grandfather, "I thought we weren't."

"Things have changed," Angela answered, "besides, it might not work out."

"Do you like the room?" Eduardo blurted out.

"It's a nice enough room," Erik answered.

"You like the house?" he persisted.

"It's a nice house," Erik said, pushing the food around his plate, "but there are other things to consider…it isn't wise to allow just anyone to live in your home."

"Are-are you in Rome for a reason?" Giovanni asked.

"Work," Erik answered shortly, "I'm employed by an architectural firm."

"That sounds important," Amelia commented.

"Not terribly so, it is merely a source of income," Erik shrugged.

"An architect…that sounds like a good profession, wouldn't you agree, Angela?" Giovanni mused.

"I suppose so," she answered.

"I cannot see why we couldn't rent our basement out to someone with such a respectable job," he continued, "I think I would like for him to stay here."

"He hasn't decided to stay yet, padre," Angela murmured.

"Of course not," Giovanni reasoned, "he only just saw the room…but you liked it?"

"It was pleasant enough," Erik answered.

"Did you see the old spinet?"

"I have no interest in music."

"Oh…h-have you seen the garden? It's on the roof, but you should see it. It's a beautiful garden."

"Perhaps another time, I should be going," Erik said, pushing himself out of his chair, "thank you for your hospitality, I will consider your offer."

"I could show it to you," Giovanni said, standing up as well, "I think that you'd like the garden."

Erik bristled slightly, he could tell that the old man wanted to speak with him, but had no real desire to do so. The entire situation was leaving him with a rock in his stomach and a slight tightness in his chest. He could feel the eyes of the other people on him, watching as he ground his teeth and scowled at their father and grandfather.

"Very well then," he finally ground out, "show me your garden."

* * *

It was a selfishness that had caused Giovanni to ask Erik to see the garden, and he knew it perfectly well. He could tell that Erik was uncomfortable, a certain nervousness seemed to crawl through his veins, something Giovanni could remember from years before. The signs were still the same; the tenseness in his muscles and wariness of his movements. The trust that he had once so carefully built up had obviously vanished, leaving a wariness even more profound than when they had first met.

Staring out at the city, Giovanni tried to come up with something to say. Anything would have been better than the deafening silence that hung between them. It was strange, but he had hoped for Erik to return to him, knowing that it would not happen. It almost seemed like fate, though he knew that his old apprentice would call him foolish for such beliefs.

He watched as Erik walked over to the balustrade, running his fingers over the smooth surface of the stone. It wasn't crumbling anymore, it had been expertly repaired long ago and there had been no problems since.

"It wasn't your fault, you know?" Giovanni finally blurted out.

Erik turned to look at him over his shoulder, "Wasn't it?"

"I never blamed you…it wasn't your fault," he repeated dejectedly.

"No, it wasn't," Erik agreed acerbically, "I would even go so far as to venture that it was yours."

Giovanni closed his eyes against the accusation, and yet he couldn't bring himself to deny it. After all, hadn't it been his fault? If he hadn't cornered Erik, if he hadn't demanded so much of him or broken his trust, none of it would have happened. For all he knew, life might have gone on and Erik might have become the greatest architect in Rome.

"Perhaps it was, "Giovanni murmured, "but if I had known, I never would have asked it of you."

"You knew!" Erik spat, turning fully to face the old man, "you knew why I wore the mask, that it was meant to hide something from the world. You knew, and yet you ordered me to take it off!"

"I didn't know exactly-"

"But you knew," Erik hissed, breathing harsh and eyes burning. Then, after a moment he just shook his head, "and to think…you were the first person I ever trusted. Why did you do it?"

"Because I was a foolish and desperate old man," he answered dismally, "I couldn't see any other choice at the time. Everything was spiralling out of control and I didn't know what else to do."

"I can see that now," he said, giving a wry laugh, "oh, how quickly things can spiral out of control, and how often it does happen…far too often in my life."

Giovanni shuffled over to the bench and sat down, "I worried about you for a very long time, Erik. Worried and wondered about what would happen to you…you had so much potential!"

"Much of it wasted, I'm afraid."

"Where did you go?"

"I travelled with fairs as a magician, musician and ventriloquist. I have seen all of Europe and much of Asia and India. I was quite popular in Russia for a time…more so in Persia."

"A magician," Giovanni repeated, almost miserably.

"I built a palace in Persia," Erik stated bitterly, "but it was a horrible place, nothing I wish to remember. I lived in that wretched country for four years, an architect and magician and often both."

"And after that?"

"I lived in Paris for ten years," he answered brusquely, "and then spent a time in England. Now I am here."

"Paris? What did you do there?"

"Your garden is quite lovely," Erik answered, "but it is getting late."

Giovanni nodded and slowly rose from the bench, his joints creaking as he straightened. He could tell that he would get nothing more from Erik, and was in fact surprised that he had gotten so much from him. He couldn't recall Erik ever being so open.

"Why did you return to Rome? Surely there was work in England."

"I'm sure there was," he answered, walking towards the door.

Angela stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron as they walked to the door. There seemed to be an uneasy tension between her father and their possible tenant. It was not a reassuring phenomenon, for she knew how her father objected to her renting the basement out.

"You have a lovely garden, singora," Erik said.

"I'm glad you think so," she said, reaching out to shake his hand, "have a pleasant evening."

"You as well," he said, turning to the door, "oh…if I were to rent to rent the basement, when would I be able to move in?"

"You are interested then?" she asked.

"I cannot live at the inn forever," he shrugged, "and I do believe its keeper is quite tired of my 'eccentric' nature."

"You could move in at any time," she answered.

He nodded before turning the handle and leaving. After a moment Angela turned to her father, "You aren't going to argue?"

"He seems like a nice young man," he answered, "I think he'll take care of the room."

* * *

**A/N: Ah ha, a chapter! Now if only I could produce something as concrete as this with my original stories...but I shall wait it out. Please leave a review.**


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

It didn't take long to pack up his belongings, but the process was oddly tiring. It may have been that he had spent the day working on monotonous sketches, but he had a feeling it was more the thought of moving back into that house that tired him so. Still, once everything was neatly packed away he hoisted the saddle bags over his shoulders and made his way down the stairs.

"You leaving?" the woman at the front desk asked.

"Indeed," he answered, tossing a small purse onto the counter, "whatever shall you do without your eccentric Frenchman?"

She sniffed, "Have a good evening."

He rolled his eyes and stepped out of the door, immediately going to fetch his horses. They greeted him affectionately, though seemed less friendly when he balanced the saddle bags of their backs. Erik patted their necks, "It won't be for long."

Angela was in the courtyard when he arrived, hanging wet articles of clothing on a line. She turned her head when she heard the clopping of the horses' hooves, and a small smile of relief briefly crosses her featured. Erik nodded in response, removing the saddle bags from the mares' backs and slinging them over his shoulders.

"I didn't expect you so soon," Angela said, quickly finishing her chore.

"I figured sooner would be more preferable than later," Erik answered, "I can let myself in, if you are busy."

She hoisted the laundry basket onto her hip and motioned for him to enter the house, "I just have to put this away. You can go downstairs and unpack if you wish."

"Thank you," he said, glancing at Giovanni as he headed for the basement.

It didn't take long to unpack, if only for the reason that he did very little of it. A few of his books were placed on the desk, along with writing and sketching implements. There was no real place for his clothing, so he opted to keep them in the bags. Angela came down while he was organising his belongings to discuss rent and meals.

"It all seems fair," he said once she was finished, "I pay to rent the room and for food and other services."

"Yes, laundry and the like," she nodded, "and you are welcome to eat meals with my family."

"And use the facilities, the living room and the garden," Erik repeated, "yes, I am aware of that, thank you."

"I will see about getting a wardrobe of some sort down here," she said, a hint of annoyance in her tone, "as well as an ewer and basin for washing and perhaps a mirror."

"It is appreciated," Erik assured her, tossing a mask onto the desk.

"Well then, I will leave you to it," she sighed, "have a pleasant evening, signor."

* * *

The first few days that Erik lived in the house allowed Giovanni to view what had changed and what had remained the same about his old apprentice. He seemed almost like an entirely different person, yet oddly the same. He certainly interacted with the other members of the household as little as he could, spending much of his time working and the rest in the basement. Giovanni supposed that was what was normal for most tenants, though he wished that Erik would join in more. 

"I wish he would eat more," Angela complained one evening, taking setting out plates, "I don't think I've seen him eat one meal since he's been here."

"I'm sure he will once he gets comfortable here," Giovanni counselled from his seat, "besides, he no doubt eats during the day."

"At least he's a quiet enough tenant," she sighed, "barely hear him, doesn't intrude very much…at all."

"Some people are just shy, my dear."

"I do not believe for one minute that he is shy," she said pointedly, "more likely arrogant and a bit toffish."

"I wouldn't judge him that way," Giovanni warned.

"He just has this air about him," she explained, setting out the cutlery, "maybe I'm imagining it, but he seems snobbish."

Erik sidled into the room then, causing a heavy silence to fill the air. If he had heard their conversation he made no mention of it, simply took an apple from the basket on the table. He was about to leave when his brow furrowed slightly, and he reached out to straighten one of the forks that had just been laid out.

"If you're hungry, you could join us for dinner," Angela said, plunking glasses down at each setting.

Erik merely waved the apple, "This will be fine, thank you…shouldn't your children be doing that?"

"Eduardo is studying and Amelia is taking the clothes off the line," she answered, "and you should eat more than just an apple. When was the last time you ate a meal?"

Erik glanced down at the fruit, "The night that you asked me over to look at the room."

He went into the courtyard to eat his apple, which quickly attracted the mares. Erik only managed one bite before allowing the animals to share the rest of the fruit. They nuzzled him afterwards to see if there was anything more, and quickly ignored him once they discovered there wasn't. He didn't mind really, he could always find something to eat later on, there were more apples.

It didn't take long for his mind to wander in the courtyard, and his eyes trailed up to the once treacherous balustrade. He watched it for a moment, and then looked down at the ground, where he had once seen Luciana's body broken and dead. Crouching down, he ran his fingers over the ground, closing his eyes as images from the past flooded his mind, causing bile to rise in his throat.

He swallowed hard and quickly made his way back into the house and to the basement. Once there he collapsed onto the bed with a heavy sigh. It seemed foolish to him that the memory of one accident could affect him so, while the knowledge of the hundreds of deaths he had executed in Persia seemed so insignificant to him.

A knock on the door jolted him from his thoughts, "What?"

"May I come down, signor?" Amelia called.

"I see no reason why not," he answered, glowering at she teetered off the stairs with a tray of food, "what is that?"

"Madre thought you should eat something," she answered, carefully placing the tray on the desk, "so I brought you down some supper. It's stew and bread."

Erik nodded, watching as the girl looked around the cellar room, "You haven't changed it at all really…"

"I see no reason to," he answered, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"I guess not," she murmured, "where are you going?"

"Upstairs to read," he answered, picking up a novel and climbing the stairs.

"But, what about supper?" she asked, hurrying after him.

"I will eat it later if I become hungry."

Erik spent the greater part of the evening sitting in the living room, slipping through the pages of his novel, only being disturbed once by Eduardo. The young boy had entered the room and very slowly sidled over to the chair opposite Erik, sitting down in it carefully. He sat there for a moment before slowly sliding down, attempting rather unsuccessfully to read the cover of the book. It was only when Erik chuckled that the boy noticed the dual coloured eyes watching him. 

"Oh, good evening, signor!" he said hastily, shoving himself back up in the chair.

Erik nodded his head in greeting, and then dropped his eyes back to the pages.

"Erm, signor?" Eduardo ventured.

"You have a question?" Erik answered.

"What is it you're reading?"

"_Arabian Nights_," he said.

"That sounds interesting! What's it about?"

"Many things. Would you care to see it?"

Eduardo nodded and quickly bounded over to the chair. Erik recoiled slightly as the boy rested his hands on the armrest and craned his neck to look at the text on the pages. A small frown puckered his face when he didn't recognise the letters on the page.

"It is in Arabic," Erik informed him.

"You can read that?" Eduardo gaped, "really?"

"Yes, though I suspect that you cannot."

"Nope, I only read Italian."

Erik closed the book and placed it on a nearby table before leaning back in the chair, "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Soon," he agreed, "Madre said you were an architect."

"I am."

"That's what I wanna be when I grow up," the boy said proudly, "I wanna be a mason, but Madre doesn't want that. She wants me to read books and study to do something else."

"Is that so?" Erik asked.

"Yup, I wanna be a master mason, just like nonno."

"That requires a lot of work, and it is a very dangerous job," Erik said pointedly, "your mother has reason to be concerned."

"Well isn't your job dangerous too?"

"Very much so," Erik answered.

"Then why did you want to be an architect?"

"Why do you wish to be a mason?"

"Cause my nonno and padre were," he answered simply.

"And where is your father now?" Erik asked, becoming tired of the boy's questioning.

"He died in an accident," Eduardo answered meekly, "that's why Madre doesn't want me to be a mason."

"Ah," Erik said awkwardly, "well then…"

"Eduardo," Angela sighed, stepping into the room," I told you to go to bed. You haven't been bothering Erik, have you?"

"We were just talking!" he pouted, "I wasn't bothering him, honest."

"He wasn't. We were just discussing my profession," Erik told her, "he is a very curious boy."

"Bed, now!" Angela snapped, pointing to emphasize her statement.

"Fine," the boy grumbled, sulking out of the room, "g'night."

"He really wasn't bothering me," Erik assured her, standing up and taking his book from the table.

"Maybe not, but it was still his bedtime," she sighed, "Are you going now too?"

"Perhaps not to bed, but I have something I need to work on," he said.

"Well, good night then. Sleep well, signor."

"You as well," he said, walking towards the basement, "oh, I have a question for you?"

"Yes?"

"Do you prefer Leroux, or Laroque?"

"I-I don't really know," she answered, confused by what he was asking.

"Hmm, me either. Perhaps something else all together," he muttered, "good night then, and thank you."

* * *

**A/N: Two chapters in two days, a miracle...and _Across the Universe_ is by far the trippiest movie I have ever seen. I swear that watching it makes you feel stoned...please drop me a review. Oh, adn on a very strange note, if anyone out there knows of a band called "The Ataris" let me know, I'm just curious about that.**


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Christine sighed as she looked at her reflection in the mirror, wrinkling her nose as she toyed with her hair. She pulled it back and pushed it up before letting it tumble over her shoulders again. After a moment she gave up and finished applying a bit of make-up to her face.

"Are you not ready yet?" Madame asked, stepping into the room and clucking her tongue.

"Almost," Christine answered, "is he here yet?"

"The carriage just arrived," she answered, taking a light blue ribbon and putting Christine's hair in a half pony tail, "you look very pretty, my dear."

"Thank you," Christine murmured, looking at her reflection one last time. She was to attend a family dinner with Raoul and wanted to look perfect for it.

"Christine!" Meg's voice rang from the bottom of the stairs.

"Coming!" She answered, hurrying out of the room. She made certain to straighten her skirts as she hurried down the stairs, smiling warmly at Raoul as she stepped into the front hall.

"You look beautiful," he said, taking a step forward to kiss her cheek.

"What time will you have her home by?" Madame Giry asked, while Christine found and put on her cloak.

"She will be back by midnight, and no later," Raoul answered.

"I will hold you to that, Monsieur de Chagny," she said, then turned to Christine, "have a pleasant time, my dear."

"Thank you, Madame," she said, "good night, Meg."

"Night," Meg answered, "have a good time."

Raoul then lead her to the waiting carriage, opening the door for her and helping her in before entering himself. Once they were settled inside and the door was closed, the carriage jerked forward with the clatter of hooves. For a minute they sat in silence, Christine fiddling with her engagement ring and nervously chewing on her bottom lip.

"It'll be fine, Christine," Raoul assured her, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze, "you've met my parents already, and Philippe will be there."

Christine gave a small smile. It was true that she had met Raoul's parents before, but she wasn't looking forward to meeting them again. She was aware that his family did not approve of her, something that wasn't all that surprising given all the scandal she had been caught up in. Still, it would be nice to see Philippe again.

"When will we see Alexandre and Adrienne again?" she asked.

"Soon, I think," Raoul shrugged.

They lapsed back into silence after that, and Christine allowed her mind to wander back to the last time they had seen the Beaumonts. It had been at the wedding, which meant that there hadn't been a lot of time to visit. It had been a beautiful wedding though, especially when Erik's song had been played. Adrienne and Alex seemed like such a perfect couple in her mind, they were certainly happy together.

"We're here," Raoul murmured, gently touching her arm, "are you ready?"

Christine nodded and took a deep breath, "Of course."

The meal was an exceedingly awkward event. Christine felt as if she were on display for the whole room, and consequently ate very little. She did try to be polite though, and spoke with the various members of Raoul's family, even though there seemed to be so many. She wasn't sure how anyone could have so many aunts, uncles and cousins.

"Good evening, Mademoiselle Daae," Philippe said, approaching her after dinner and greeting her with an overly exuberant kiss of the hand.

"Good evening," she smiled; glad to see a kind face, "it's so good to see you again."

"Au contraire," he laughed, "I had the pleasure of attending the theatre the other night. I must say that you are an exceptional dancer."

"Why thank you," she smiled.

He gave a small laugh, "Where has my brother gone off to?"

"I don't know," she answered truthfully, "I think one of your aunts wanted to talk with him…or maybe an uncle."

"Of course," he murmured, "hmm, my aunt Louise is coming this way. Beware."

Philippe stayed with Christine until Raoul returned, apologising profusely for being unable to leave a conversation with his uncle and father. Christine told him that it was fine, and Raoul thanked Philippe for staying with her.

"It was a pleasure," Philippe said, pulling out his pocket watch and checking the time, "my, but it is getting late."

"It is at that," Raoul agreed, "come, Christine, I should be getting you home. I would not want Madame Giry to think I am not a man of my word."

"It wasn't so terrible, was it?" Raoul asked, once the carriage was rattling away from the estate.

"I guess no," She answered, "it just feels like they're always judging me, Raoul. Philippe was the only friendly face that entire time, other than yours of course. It's like I'm being tested and failing."

Raoul sighed, "I know it's hard, Christine, and I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said, smiling at him, "I'm sure I'll get used to it in time."

Raoul kissed her and leaned back in his seat. He knew that she would never get used to it, he doubted anyone could. No matter what, he knew that Christine would always want to perform, whether as a dancer or a singer, it did not matter. She loved to be on stage, and that was something that his family viewed as shameful. Still, Raoul promised himself that he would never make Christine give up what she loved, no matter was his parents wanted.

The carriage rattled to a halt outside of the flat, and Christine quickly gathered herself. Raoul helped her out and walked her to the door, kissing her before she went inside.

"Good night," Christine murmured.

"Sleep well, Christine," he answered, stealing a final kiss as she entered the house, "I love you."

"I love you too," she replied.

* * *

The next day Christine and Meg were rushing out of the house. As they rushed out the door Meg shouted a hurried, "Good bye, Maman!"

"Hurry, Meg, we're going to miss the omnibus," Christine urged, adding a rushed, "have a good day, Madame!"

The two girls hurried through the streets, earning the stares and laughs of several people as they went. Some of the people on the bus recognised them from the theatre, and shook there heads, as they clambered on and slumped down into the seats. It seemed as if they did the same thing every morning.

"How was the dinner last night?" Meg asked once she caught her breath.

"As awkward as a two legged horse," Christine answered honestly, "Raoul and his brother were the only friendly faces there."

"Aww, I'm so sorry," Meg sympathised.

Christine smiled, "It's fine, really. I mean, it's only a few awkward dinners and parties. It isn't so bad, and it was my choice. Truthfully I don't really care what they think of me."

"Well they shouldn't judge you," Meg persisted.

"Come on, Meg, this is our stop," Christine said, "We don't want to be late again."

Meg nodded and quickly followed Christine as they got off the bus and hurried into the theatre. The moment they were inside they could hear the ballet mistress shouting for them and ran to see what it was that she wanted, joining the group of dancers that had already congregated around her.

* * *

**A/N: Typing with cold hands is no fun...and there shall be more Erik next chapter. Please leave me a review.**


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Erik scowled at his name, signed messily on the page. The young man he had met previously, Marc if he could remember the name correctly, sidled over to look at the design over Erik's shoulder.

"Leroux?" he asked, "that's your last name, huh?"

"So it would seem," Erik grumbled, unable to change his mind now.

"Right, you're French," Marc chuckled, "I forgot. You don't have an accent when you talk, so it's hard to tell you aren't from here."

"Good to know," Erik murmured.

"You done with that already? It seems like you just started."

"It's a restoration project," Erik answered dryly, "not an incredibly difficult task. Anyone with a lick of talent could easily finish the designs with just as much haste."

"Ah," Marc said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers, "well, I have some work to finish. I'll talk with you later then."

Erik made sure that he didn't speak with the other man for the rest of the day by leaving early, with the excuse of wanting to see the restoration site. His new boss was impressed with his dedication and allowed him to leave, expecting a report the next day. Erik of course agreed to the terms and made his way from the building to the church he was to assist in restoring.

It didn't look to be an overly difficult restoration job, though he had known that from the start. Much of the old stonework needed to be redone, as the masonry was crumbling in many places. Other than that though, it seemed to simply be a job of restoring the building to its former beauty, and that was where the real challenge would be. There was so much that could be done when working on a church.

* * *

"You're back early," Angela commented as Erik walked onto the rooftop.

"I am," Erik agreed.

"Well then, perhaps I could make use of you," she said matter of factly.

"I am a rather useless person," he said.

"I would like you to accompany my daughter," Angela said, "she needs to pick up a few things, and I cannot go with her. I would very much appreciate it."

Erik sighed quietly, "I see. Well then, I suppose I should find your daughter."

"She will be in the kitchen," Angela said, "She knows what we need, so just listen to her."

"I was never very good at listening," Erik murmured, wandering back into the house to find Amelia.

She was in the kitchen, just as Angela had said, and turned to greet him, "Oh, good afternoon!"

"Your mother wanted me to accompany you to the market," Erik stated, "You know what you're doing there?"

"Oh, um yeah," she nodded, quickly grabbing a large basket, "thank you."

Erik couldn't say that he was particularly fond of shopping, but there were far more unpleasant exercises that could have been asked of him. After all, following an adolescent girl from store to store wasn't a very difficult task. The most difficult part of it was the conversation that accompanied the trip.

"Are you enjoying Rome, signor?" she asked cheerfully, inspecting some sort of vegetable.

"Thoroughly," he replied.

"It's such a beautiful city," she continued, "We used to live in the country, well a small country town. Rome is just so much grander than that."

"I should hope so," Erik said, humouring her as she continued to inspect different vegetables.

"You're French, correct?" she asked, smiling when he nodded, "I've always wanted to see Paris, ever since I was a little girl. I bet it's a beautiful city."

"It is a fair city," Erik murmured, trailing her as she purchased the food items.

"Only fair?" she asked.

"Once you live somewhere for a long enough period of time, it loses its charm," Erik explained.

"Oh," she said, heading down the street, towards the bakery. In all honesty she was expecting more from Erik, maybe even a conversation. Unfortunately it didn't look like that would happen. All the answers he gave her were reluctant and vague, certainly not easily expanded upon.

"This won't take very long," she said, leading him into the bakery and walking up to the counter.

"Splendid," he muttered, standing near the door as she waited to be served.

The man behind the counter greeted Amelia cheerfully, giving Erik the impression that he knew her. It wasn't really all that surprising, it seemed like many of the shop owners, or those who ran the fruits and vegetable stands, knew their customers well.

"Will that be all?" the man asked.

"Yes, thank you," Amelia answered, handing him the appropriate amount of money.

"Very well," he said, "have a good evening then."

"You as well, signor!" she said cheerfully, turning and heading towards the door, which Erik opened for her.

She thanked him as they stepped back into the streets, and Erik couldn't help but be relieved that they were finished with the chore. He wanted nothing more than to return to the house and go down to the basement.

"Will you be joining us for supper tonight?" Amelia asked.

"Perhaps," he replied.

"Madre would like it," she commented.

"I am aware of that."

"Well then why don't you come?" she asked.

Erik shrugged, "I am not particularly fond of sitting down for meals. They are a bit too personal for me."

"Oh…but you must be hungry?"

"I eat very little, and only when I need to," he answered, though inwardly he would admit that he was eating even less lately than he usually would. He often thought that his time in England had affected his eating patterns, seeing as they had insisted on his presence at the family meals. Truthfully, he missed them a little. Occasionally they had been rather pleasant.

* * *

Giovanni was surprised to hear that Erik had gone to the market with Amelia. From what he remembered, Erik had scarcely left the house when he had been apprenticed to him. In fact, he could remember quite clearly the wariness that the boy had suffered from when around other people.

"He's a rather interesting man," Amelia observed, "he's so dark and mysterious."

"I know, dear," the old man answered.

"I wish I knew more about him," she continued, "I mean, he lives in the house, but we see so little of him, and he wears that mask all the time. I wonder what's under it…what do you think, nonno?"

"I think that you should leave well enough alone," he scolded. The girl was acting like Luciana.

"Well of course!" she gasped, "it would be terribly rude to ask him about it. I would never dream of doing that."

"Good girl," Giovanni murmured, knowing that Amelia had a good head on her shoulder, and certainly a more level one than his youngest daughter. Still, he knew that Erik was quite an attractive figure, as well as a dangerous one. He hadn't seen his temper yet, but he figured that it was just as volatile as it had been so many years ago.

"I have to get the table set for supper, nonno," Amelia said, flitting towards the door, "it should be ready soon. I'll come get you then."

"Thank you, dear," he smiled.

* * *

**A/N: Wow, I am tired...and shall now go to bed. I'll try to update again at some point...maybe next week. I don't know, I have so much stuff to do right now that I don't have time to breath. Which is fine, because I already tend to not breath for moderate lengths of time (seriously, it is an odd habit). Please leave a review.**


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

"I would have thought," Giovanni said, shuffling into the rooftop garden, "that you would want to avoid the market. You never would have gone before…"

Erik turned from the balustrade to look at the old man, "Yes well, I suppose you could say that I have matured since then. Gotten over a few of my former dislikes, one might say."

"And yet, you still won't join my family for dinner," Giovanni pointed out, sitting heavily on the stone bench, "we would love to have you at the table."

Erik shrugged his shoulders, "I'm often tired after working and want some peace. Besides, I have never been one to eat very much. You should remember that."

"No, I suppose you weren't. But you did eat, which you don't seem to be doing now."

"I eat when I'm out, or take something before I go to my room."

Giovanni sighed and watched as his former student leaned against the balustrade, "Join my family for dinner tomorrow. I want to see you at the table, to hear a little about your work."

"It's fine," Erik answered, "a bit tedious, but better than nothing. I am designing an apartment block, and restoring an old church. The work is far from inspiring, but I would rather being doing that than sitting around with nothing to occupy my time."

Giovanni smiled sadly, knowing that Erik was only telling him so that he would have an excuse to not attend the next meal, "Well then, I'm glad everything is working out. If you wish to find more interesting work, then I could help. I still have many contacts in the business."

"I could find more interesting work if I wanted to," Erik answered, "I am more than capable of impressing would be employers, I simply do not wish to do so. You should know that though, after all, it was you who trained me."

Giovanni nodded his head solemnly, hearing that bitter and sarcastic edge in Erik's voice. So, instead of pursuing the topic further, he changed the subject, "You never did tell me what you did in Paris."

"Nothing of consequence," he said hastily.

"Ten years, and you did nothing of consequence?"

"Nothing at all," Erik insisted, turning to look over the rail again.

"And that is why you left?"

"I forgot what a lovely view of the city you have from here," Erik murmured, "you're very lucky to have it."

Giovanni could only shake his head in defeat. He knew that he was too old to play Erik's games, and frankly he didn't want to. If Erik had been gifted with a brilliant mind as a child, Giovanni had no doubt that it had only flourished since then, and that he would be unable to outthink the man before him.

"I look out at it often," he settled on saying, "the sunset is always beautiful."

"I always preferred sunsets to sunrises," Erik said thoughtfully, "which do you prefer?"

"The sunrise," he admitted.

"Nonno!" Amelia called, opening the door, "oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Its fine, child," Giovanni assured her, "what did you want?"

"Madre just wanted me to tell you that the tea is ready," she answered, her eyes flicking to Erik's back, "you could have a cup too, signor!"

"Will there be milk in it?" Erik asked, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Ummm…if you wanted, I suppose," she answered, her expression puzzled.

Erik laughed quietly, "No thank you…in fact, I must decline all together. I have things to do; I bid you both a good night."

Erik brushed past Angela as he headed to the cellar, muttering a quick, "Good night."

"You're off to bed so soon?" she asked.

"I have some things I wish to attend to," he answered, turning at the door, "and I wish to get them done as quickly as possible."

"Well then, will we see you tomorrow?"

"Perhaps…one never knows, I may decide to join you and your family for a meal."

"I won't hold my breath," she retorted, "good night, signor."

"Good night," he repeated, before turning and heading down the stairs.

* * *

Erik nearly rolled out of bed when Angela's voice rang sharply through the cellar. He rolled over and looked blearily around the room, allowing a small groan to croak through his throat. He couldn't actually remember going to bed, but judging by the book on the floor he had fallen asleep while reading. 

"Are you awake?" Angela shouted again, banging on the door.

"It would be nearly impossible to sleep with that racket you're making!" he snarled.

"Then get dressed and come up here," she said, ignoring his harsh tone.

Erik gave another groan and looked down at his clothes. They were rumpled, but still clean as far as he could tell. Running a hand over his chin, he sucked in a deep breath through his nose and let out a heavy sigh before climbing out of bed and up the stairs. The first thing that Angela received from him that morning was a half-asleep glare.

"You're wearing those?" she asked.

"So it would appear," he ground out, "may I ask why you have gotten me up at such an ungodly hour?"

"It is Sunday," Angela replied simply.

Erik stared at her for a moment, then allowed his eyes to drift over Giovanni and the children, all dressed in their best clothes. It took a moment for him to process it all, but after a moment he understood what she was saying.

"You're catholic," he said, blinking to try and wake up, "so you would be attending mass today."

"Aren't you catholic?" Amelia asked, "I thought that the French were catholic."

"Many are," Erik answered, "I, however, am not one of them. So, if you will excuse me, I am going back to bed."

"Not catholic?" Eduardo asked, "Then what are you?"

"Atheist," Erik answered, looking over his shoulder as he went through the door to the cellar, "enjoy your mass."

* * *

**A/N: It's short and not too spectacular, but a chapter none the less. Now that I am finished with my Halloween affairs (party and horse show) and midterm (midterm day after Halloween Bad) I felt I should add something. And, there will be more soon, hopefully. Please drop me a review.**


	11. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Angela crossed her arms over her chest as Erik entered the house, having just missed the evening meal. He flashed her a small, but pleasant smile and tossed an envelope onto the coffee table in the living room.

"Good evening, Signora," he said.

"And where have you been?" she asked, frowning as he sat down in an armchair, "we returned from mass yesterday only to find that you had gone."

"I was out," he answered.

"For most of yesterday and all of today," Angela snapped.

"You needn't concern yourself with my whereabouts," he murmured, prying open the envelope, "I am a grown man, I can take care of myself."

Angela shook her head and huffed out a sigh, "Who is that from?"

"A friend," Erik murmured, eyes scanning the letter.

Dear Erik,

I do hope that this letter finds you well, and Adrienne would like to inquire as to your health and well being. The wedding was lovely, and your song was beautiful. It brought a tear to Adrienne's eye, as well as my mother's.

In case you couldn't tell by the address on the envelope, Adrienne and I have moved into the estate that you designed. It is amazing to be back in France again, though I will admit that it is strange to be away from my parents. Adrienne wants nothing more than for you to visit. Perhaps around Christmas?

A scowl suddenly formed on Erik's features and he crushed the letter in his hand, before throwing it into the fireplace. There was no fire burning there, but the action was significant enough, and he snarled something in French before storming down into the cellar. The sound of something shattering was enough to deter Angela from going to ask what was wrong.

"What was that racket?" Giovanni asked, shuffling into the room.

"Our tenant is back," she answered, taking the crumpled up letter from the hearth and smoothing it out.

"I wouldn't go reading that," Giovanni scolded.

"What do you take me for, padre?" Angela frowned, placing the letter on the table, "I'm simply saving it in case he wants to read it later. He can be a bit rash at times, from what I can tell."

"But he returned safely?" Giovanni asked, changing the subject.

"Yes," she answered, "he returned safely, for what it's worth…why do you care so much, anyway?"

"Oh…no real reason," he murmured, shifting uncomfortably, "I think I'll get off to bed now. I'm feeling a bit worn."

"Good night then. Sleep well, padre, I love you."

"I love you too, dear."

* * *

The next morning, when Erik came up to go to work, he found the letter on the table. With a quiet sigh he picked it up and reread it, realising that perhaps he had overreacted to the contents. After all, chances were that Alexandre and Adrienne did only want to see him, and that to them Christmas seemed like an appropriate time.

"I saved that for you," Angela said, jolting him from his thoughts, "I thought that you might still want it."

"Thank you," he murmured, folding the letter and putting it in his pocket.

"Are you willing to share what was in that letter?" she asked.

"Nothing," he answered.

Angela raised her eyebrows, "That was a lot of fuss over nothing."

"Looking back on it now, it was nothing," Erik amended, "I have to go to work. Good day, signora."

"You as well," she said.

* * *

The day passed slowly, and Erik spent most of his time in the office working on designs. Soon he would be spending his time at the restoration site, but until the work started he would have to remain in the office. Something, he would admit, that he found extremely dull. Still, it was his job, so he spent the day toiling through designs and doing some required paperwork.

"How was your day?" Amelia asked when Erik returned to the house.

"Terribly dreary," he answered, "yours?"

"Oh, it was fine," she answered, "not too exciting, but still good. Are you going to join us for supper tonight? It should be ready soon."

"I suppose I could," he shrugged.

"Wonderful! I'll set an extra place then," she smiled, "I'll call you when it's ready."

Erik nodded uncertainly, "Thank you."

Giovanni and Angela seemed glad for his attendance at the dinner table, but after several minutes of Eduardo and Amelia arguing Erik was not convinced it was something he wanted to do regularly.

"How was work today?" Angela finally asked, giving both her children silencing looks.

"Uneventful," Erik shrugged.

"Are you working on anything interesting?" Giovanni ventured.

"If I were, then my day would not be uneventful," Erik pointed out, "at the moment I have been handed rather simple and boring assignments."

"Are you gonna get to work at a build site?" Eduardo asked, eyes wide with interest.

"Yes, starting this week I will be supervising at a restoration site," Erik answered.

"What's that?" the boy frowned.

"It means that I am working to rebuild an older building," Erik explained, "a church, to be specific."

"Ironic," Angela commented.

Erik shrugged his shoulders gracefully, "Perhaps a bit."

"What else are you working on?" Eduardo demanded, now interested in Erik's work.

"Apartment blocks," Erik muttered, picking at his food.

"Apartment blocks?" Giovanni fumed, "your talent is wasted on that. You should be working on private contracts."

Erik cleared his throat awkwardly, "I think it is very appropriate. I am the newest employee at the firm and would expect nothing more than the projects I have received so far."

Giovanni huffed angrily and muttered something into his plate, and Erik couldn't help but notice the crease in Angela's brow. He knew that she was now wondering why her father was so upset, and how he knew Erik. After all, as far as they knew, Giovanni and Erik had never met before.

"Madre, can I go play now?" Eduardo asked, pushing his empty plate away.

"Pardon?" Angela asked.

"May I please be excused?" Eduardo repeated, giving a dramatic sigh for effect.

"You may," she said, then turned to her daughter, "you as well, Amelia."

"Thank you, Madre," she smiled, standing and pushing her chair in, even as her brother rushed out of the room.

"You needn't stay either," she said, addressing Erik, "thank you for joining us for a meal."

Erik gave a small nod and stood up, taking his plate and stacking it on top of the two children's. He then proceeded to stack the remaining plates and gather the cutlery. Angela raised her eyebrows at him as he carried the dishes away to the kitchen. He returned a second later to collect the cups.

"You don't have to do that," Angela told him.

"It would impolite for me not to," he replied, then disappeared into the kitchen again.

"He's a polite man," Giovanni smiled.

"A polite, very talented man, according to you," Angela said.

"I didn't mean to get upset," Giovanni sighed heavily.

"Padre, why do you think that Erik's talent is wasted on apartment blocks?"

"I-I don't think…I know," Giovanni murmured, keeping his voice low, "Erik…he was an apprentice of mine."

Angela frowned at the news, "When? Why didn't you tell me?"

"He was my last apprentice," Giovanni muttered, avoiding eye contact with his daughter.

"You mean…" she trailed off and turned towards the kitchen before lowering her voice, "he was the one that was involved in the accident?"

"Now, don't go blaming him," Giovanni said hurriedly, "it wasn't his fault, not in the least."

"I don't care if he was involved in all that, I know it was an accident. But…you should have told me, padre," Angela said, shaking her head.

"I should have," he agreed


	12. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Erik smoothed the letter from Adrienne and Alex out on his desk, finally reading the last part of it. Everything truly seemed to be going well for them, but he still had the nagging feeling that the invitation to visit them at Christmas was more than the want for a friendly visit. But then again, perhaps they didn't know what he knew. After all, how could they know that he kept in contact with Madame Giry, or that she had sent word to him of Raoul and Christine's decision for a winter wedding? That letter rested on the desk just above this new one.

"Alex always was a fool," he muttered, going over to his bed and laying down. Alex was a fool, but he knew that Adrienne was not.

The day after the next Erik started work at the restoration site, and though it was a welcome break from sitting in the office for hours a day, unfortunately the start of the project coincided with a week of cool and wet weather. This meant that he often found himself returning to the house damp, and with far less done than he had hoped.

"You're back rather late," Angela commented one night, her eyes glued to the pages of a book as Erik entered the house, "you missed supper."

"Terribly sorry," Erik muttered, stalking towards the cellar door.

Angela sighed and turned in the chair, "My goodness, you're soaked!"

"It has been raining all day," Erik pointed out, "if I were dry, it would be a miracle."

Angela shook her head, "I'll get you a towel. If you go to bed that wet you'll catch a chill."

"I did intend to change into something dry first," Erik retorted.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked, ignoring him.

"Fine," he grumbled, slumping into the leather armchair, "thank you."

* * *

Angela returned a few minutes later, tossing him a towel before going off to tend to the kettle. When she next returned she had a tray with two tea cups and a steaming kettle. Erik watched as she poured them each a cup, the towel draped over his shoulders uselessly. 

"Dry off a bit," she sighed, handing him the cup of tea.

"I'll be just fine," Erik murmured, placing the cup down on the table, "in all honesty, all I would like is some rest."

"Well, I am not in the habit of sending people off to bed cold and wet. So, dry off, drink your tea and then you are more than welcome to go to bed."

He raised his eyebrow and sipped the tea, "And what if I chose to refuse? How would you keep me here?"

"I guess I couldn't, now could I?" she answered, "and yet, here you are."

"Yes well, I do not enjoy going to bed cold and wet."

There was a moment of silence before Angela spoke again, "You know, you've been living in my house for some time now, and I feel like I barely know you. We haven't really spoken, have we?"

Erik shrugged his shoulders elegantly, "No we have not."

"Why don't you tell me something about yourself then," she suggested.

Erik pondered the request for a moment, "Only if you tell me something about yourself."

"I was born here in Rome, grew up in Rome with my two sisters, fell in love and got married, then left the city and started my family," she said, "your turn."

"I was born in France, ran away from home to join the circus, enjoyed my time travelling Europe and then spent several years in Persia. I then returned to spend several years in Paris, went to England for work and now I am here."

"You ran away from home?" she asked.

"That is what I said."

"To join the circus?"

"Well, unintentionally. And it was a band of gypsies, actually."

Angela laughed and shook her head, "And how old were you?"

"Nine or so," he muttered, "perhaps eight…I can't really be sure."

"Such an adventure filled life," she said, "did you ever spend time in Rome, perchance?"

"For a time," he answered, "I enjoyed the city in my youth."

"Then why did you leave?"

"The city did not enjoy me," he answered, standing up and stretching as he did so, "now, if you will excuse me, I would like to get some rest."

"Of course. Sleep well, I will be getting you up early tomorrow."

"And why would you be doing that?" he queried.

"Tomorrow is Sunday, which means that there will be mass."

"Ah, it all makes sense now," Erik said, "take the atheist tenant to mass and convert him from his cursed ways. Good night, signora."

"Good night."

* * *

**A/N: I found my flash drive, so you get another chapter! So sorry for the long wait...please drop me a review.**


	13. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

The start awake wasn't so bad after being told in advance, but it was still intensely irritating. Erik groaned softly as Angela's voice rang down the stairs; he had to admit that she certainly could yell. He figured that it came from having two children.

"Wake up!" she shouted, "or else I'll come down and get you up myself!"

Erik muttered an obscenity into his pillow and rolled over. He had no intentions of getting out of bed, it was warm and he was still tired. If she truly wanted to come down to wake him up then so be it, he had become quite proficient at ignoring things that annoyed him, especially people shouting and carrying on.

He had almost drifted back to sleep when he heard footsteps on the stairs. With a quiet groan he screwed his eyes tightly shut, preparing himself for the impending shout to get up. When it didn't come he relaxed slightly, wondering if she had decided to just leave him well enough alone. That wasn't the case though, as he learned when he felt her hand collide roughly with his shoulder. With cat-like reflexes he sat up, swinging his arm around with the intention to hit his assailer. He managed to stop himself just before his arm collided with Angela's chest, allowing the limb to drop limply back to the bed.

"Well," Angela said, her voice quavering somewhat, "I can see you are awake now."

"I apologise," Erik muttered, running a hand through his hair, "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"I wouldn't say that you frightened me," Angela said calmly, "startled perhaps. I am not used to being attacked when I wake people up."

"I am not used to being awoken in such a forceful manner," Erik yawned, "could you hand me that shirt?"

Angela followed the direction of his finger and plucked the shirt from the chair behind her, tossing it to Erik. He stood up and shrugged it on, adjusting the chain around his neck before doing up the buttons. He then picked up a dark green waistcoat and started putting it on, pausing when he noticed that Angela was still in the room, watching him as he dressed.

"Is there something I can help you with?" he asked.

"I am just making sure that you do not go back to bed," she said, "and you may want to tuck in your shirt before doing up your waistcoat."

Erik frowned and tucked in his shirt, "Happy now?"

"I'll be happy when you come to mass," she answered.

"Indeed," Erik grumbled, shrugging on a jacket, "and must you watch me dress? It is somewhat unnerving."

"Well then, I am sorry that I make you uncomfortable. Now come upstairs, I need to make sure my children are ready."

Erik rolled his eyes as he followed her up the stairs to where the rest of the family was already waiting. They were all dressed in what Erik assumed were their best clothes, and Amelia smiled at him shyly.

"You're coming?" she asked cheerfully.

"I am considering the idea of walking with you to the church," Erik answered.

"Would you?" Amelia asked, "please do, it's such a lovely morning."

Eduardo gave a small snort of laughter, "A lovely morning?"

"Oh be quiet!" Amelia snapped, then turned back to Erik, "so will you walk with us?"

Erik sighed quietly, "Yes, I will walk with you."

The walk to mass was nice, if not a bit noisy. Amelia had certainly been right about it being a pleasant morning, the sun was shining brightly and there were only a few fluffy, white clouds in the sky.

"Why do you always wear those clothes?" Eduardo asked, walking backwards in front of Erik.

"Because it would be considered uncivilized to walk around naked," Erik replied smoothly.

Eduardo laughed, "I mean why do you wear such stuffy French clothes? And they're all black, like you're going to a funeral or something."

"I wear these clothes because they are what I like. I am French, after all. And I like to wear black."

"I guess it suits you," Eduardo said thoughtfully, "hey, why don't you wanna come to mass?"

"I don't believe in God," Erik answered simply.

"How can you not believe in God?" Amelia gasped.

"I have never had any reason to believe that one exists. You may continue to believe in whatever you want to, I will not try to change your mind. I, however, simply have never encountered anything that would lead me to believe that there is a God."

* * *

There was not much to do while the family was in mass. For a short while Erik entertained a pair of young boys with a few simple magic tricks. It wasn't long before the boys were called away by their parents, though. Erik couldn't really blame them, a man dressed entirely in black who wore a mask wasn't exactly the sort of person one would want their children around. 

"You didn't go back to the house?" Angela asked when they came out of mass to find him waiting in the square.

"What would have been the point?" Erik asked, "I have nothing to do there, and it was a lovely morning."

"I just didn't expect you to wait around," she said.

"You think so…little of me then?" Erik asked.

"Something the matter?" Giovanni asked, following Erik's gaze.

"No, I just thought I saw something," he murmured, frowning slightly.

"Saw what?" Eduardo asked.

"Nothing at all. Shall we go?"

Angela nodded and they started their walk back to the house. They were nearly half way their when Erik muttered for them to keep going and darted off down a side street. Angela shook her head at his strange behaviour and kept walking. He met them back at the house, arriving mere second before they did.

"Did you have a nice trip?" Angela asked.

"Why yes," Erik answered sarcastically, "it was wonderful, I shall tell you about it later. And I promise not to spare you any of the details."

"How kind of you," Amelia laughed.

Once inside Erik quickly made his way down to the cellar, deciding to get some work done instead of joining the family for their midday meal. It wasn't until Angela entered his room that he realised how long he had spent at his desk.

"Will you be joining us for supper?" she asked.

"I would appreciate it if you would knock next time you enter," Erik answered brusquely.

"I will keep that in mind," she said, "now answer my question. And please, answer specifically. I don't want any of you 'I will consider it' business."

Erik gave a small laugh, "How long would I have?"

"About ten minutes," she answered.

"You didn't come all the way down here just to ask me if I was coming up for supper. You have never cared before now. So, what is it you actually want?"

"You are quite brash, did you know that?"

"I have been called similar names before."

"I wanted to ask you about something about this morning," she sighed.

"And what would that be?" he asked, his voice becoming guarded.

"You wear a ring around your neck, on a chain…I was just curious as to why you do so. Perhaps you could answer me that?"

Erik sighed and pulled the ring out from under his shirt, twirling it around for a moment in the dim light, "This little thing? Of all the events of this morning, you want to know about this trinket…you were looking that closely?"

Angela frowned, "It caught my attention because most men do not wear jewellery."

Erik pursed his lips slightly, "You have obviously never met gypsies…as for this ring? It was a gift from someone I care very deeply for."

"And where is she now?" Angela asked.

"Engaged," he said, giving a small laugh, "to be married to a vicomte, none the less."

Angela nodded her head slowly, "Well then, I hope she is happy."

"As do I," Erik agreed, "and I think I'll come to supper. I'm a bit hungry, and tired of this work anyways."

"Well then, I'll go set another spot at the table," Angela said, "five minutes."

Erik nodded his head, "Very well then. I will be there in five minutes."

* * *

**A/N: Here's another chapter. I'd say I was sorry that it took so long to get up, but I'm really not. There's been a lot of stuff going on here with sick family members and the like, so that's why I didn't get it up sooner. Everything seems to be going better now though, so hopefully another chapter will be up sooner, but no promises. I will, however, apologise for any spelling/grammer mistakes, as I didn't really edit it all that thoroughly. If you're still sticking with me, thanks, and please leave a review.**


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